Another day, another empty portfolio. Lazarus had packed up his supplies, save for the gramophone, which wasn't an antique by any means. It was a dime store thing, something that the previous owner had no doubt picked up in a novelty store. It played a handful of pre recorded songs, a few of which were familiar to the mercenary. The technology had been alien to him, but it hadn't been beyond his mental capability to figure out. However, it was beyond the machines capability to moved beyond the two songs that had survived the passage of time, and nature. 

The tune followed him down the path he had taken, and into a broken street containing a number of intact buildings. One drew his attention near immediately. It's rotting archway was the only one that had been disturbed recently, indicated by the footprints that had disturbed the dust, and tore at the threshold. 

He placed the machine down in the doorway, allowing the music to travel on the acoustics of the building, filling it's old walls with music for the first time in what was likely, decades. His footsteps soon followed the music, deliberated and pace, with no regard for disturbing whomever may be inside. He had no reason or want to hide his presence. Arrogance played a smaller part than intention in this instance. Sulking around buildings like a common thief didn't lend any credence to the confident air one needed to exude as a mercenary. 

The man continued into the building, eventually coming to stop atop a dried pool of blood, and, upon further inspection, a young woman who by his estimation, had lost a little to much to be lucid.

The music had been a worthwhile idea. His coming had been announced, so he wasn't likely to startle her with the,

[color=firebrick]"Good day."[/color] that left his lips with an easy confidence that matched his posture, one fist on his hip, with his opposite palm on a nearby stand.